


Promises Not Yet Made

by Prince_Of_The_Night



Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst I guess, Kinda, M/M, Time Travel Fix It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-12
Updated: 2019-02-12
Packaged: 2019-10-26 17:40:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17750471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prince_Of_The_Night/pseuds/Prince_Of_The_Night





	Promises Not Yet Made

_Breathe out and breathe in_

_We're still forgetting_

_Breathe out and breathe in_

_We'll be forgiven_

_Together, we wait for space_

_Together, we wait for silence_

_And under your breath you spoke of innocence_

**_⫘⫘⫘_ **

A phone call woke August. It wasn’t particularly early, only seven in the morning, but he had plans to sleep in on his day off. It didn’t matter much, because he knew that ringtone; the high, soft violins he only used for Ryan. It was odd, to have Ryan call him. He never called anyone much but rather texted a mile a minute, a habit picked up from years of living with Ciara.

August picked up his phone.

“Hey,” Ryan said softly. It put August on edge. Ryan never said anything softly, always bubbling around with excessive energy and too much joy for anyone that wasn’t a six-year-old girl.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, sleep-slurred. Even though he was half asleep, August was quickly waking up. He wanted a peaceful day, one where he could stay home or maybe visit his brother.

“Can you come over? This isn’t something that should be said over the phone.” This was not going to be a peaceful day, he could tell.

“I’ll be there in,” August glanced at the clock near his bed, “thirty minutes.”

“Thanks,” Ryan said. He sounded tired, and something stirred in August’s stomach, an anxious, insidious thing. Part of him wanted to demand answers. He hung up instead.

Any plans August had made, half-formed in his mind, swirled away hopelessly. Still, maybe as some twisted form of hope, he put on the soft, grey sweater Ciara got him last year for Christmas, the one he only wore when he stayed home.

August was glad Ryan and Ciara lived close enough that he could walk there quickly. Even early in the morning, the streets of Lustin were nearly crowded. He grumbled under his breath as he made his way through the apartment building lobby. The little old lady at the front desk smiled up at him.

“Back again?” she asked, eyes clear and filled with mirth. August wasn’t sure why. She always had that happily all-knowing look to her.

“It’s never too late to pick up a new hobby!” she called after him. August was helpless; he chuckled and shook his head as he waited for the elevator to open. Still, it didn’t dispel the tension in his gut.

It had been there since he woke up. Like the world was warning him it would be a bad day. It wasn’t supposed to feel like it was supposed to be a bad day; the air outside hadn’t felt heavy with expectation, there wasn’t tension in the shoulders of every person he walked past, the gangs didn’t seem to be out and about — well, you never could tell with the Reapers, but it was all the same. As far as he knew of his city and its warning bells, something that had August occasionally wondering if it was sentient, it should have been a perfectly fine, normal day.

And then Ciara opened the door instead of Ryan, and the swirling uncertainty in his stomach sharpened and hardened into something like anger or anticipation or panic.

_August_ , she signed, _Hey. You should come in_.

August took in the slightly hunched line of her shoulders, how her hair was carefully smoothed and tamed into a single, solid sheet of shadow. When she tossed a thin, pale smile at him as they left the hall, he took careful note of her tired eyes and the barely-there dark circles. She’d had a long night.

Ryan was sitting in one of the soft, blue chairs in the living room. For once, he didn’t look particularly excited or happy. Instead, he seemed tired and stretched thin, taking off his glasses to rub at the bridge of his nose for a moment.

“August.” He sounded worse than he had on the phone, like he’d been dreading this conversation and where it would go. “You should sit down.”

August leaned his shoulder into the concrete of the wall near the entrance. “I’m fine,” he said, tense. He crossed his arms, nodded for Ryan to get on with it.

“I plan to tell everyone else later, but I thought you deserved to be told first.”

August didn’t like the way Ryan worded it. Like someone was about to tell him some far too dramatic news, an engagement reveal. It was how Ryan would handle those kinds of things. If Ryan and Ciara weren’t engaged already.

Ryan shook his head, something like pity fell onto his face. “I’m sorry. I really am. I hate that I have to tell you this myself, but I’m probably his only emergency contact that isn’t family and— god, okay. Listen, I’m not here to assume what kind of relationship you had—”

Warning bells had started to sound off in August’s head, but now they only grew louder and louder.

“—because you both confused everyone.”

Ryan stopped to breathe, shake his head, before continuing, “I got the phone call sometime last night, or this morning. Ellis is, well. He’s dead, August. Last night. I guess there was some kind of collision and the driver was drunk but—”

No. _No_. That can’t happen, Ellis can’t be dead. The impossibility of it all weighed down on August, bore into him, turning what once was a gleeful hope into something unbearable, a horror of the worst caliber, unto its own self. Any awareness he had boiled away into vapor. His ears rung, but even that was muffled and far away.

He and Ellis had never gotten along, not really. No, that would be more than stretching truth, it would be stretching the realm of possibility, to say they got along. Their relationship had been built on mutual disgust, dislike, and distrust. The strangely possessive anger that filled August whenever he saw someone who wasn’t himself take a swing at Ellis acted as the foundation for that _something_ filled with rage, and violence, and odd intimacy.

Ellis was supposed to be invincible to everyone else, was supposed to only bruise from August’s hands. He wasn’t supposed to be killable. It was an indisputable fact of the world— August was unnaturally strong; Ciara would do just about anything — barring a few things — for the right price.. It was simple mathematics, the undeniable laws of the universe. And yet, August could feel it slipping away from his burning fingertips, with a sound like a raging god finally dying out. The impossible had been done.

Ryan just about screaming August’s name in his ear brought him back to the world. Back to Ciara’s sad, panicked expression, to the blood dripping down his knuckles and the wall, to the searing, heated pain in his head, chest, hand.

“I’m sorry,” Ryan said, and he sounded like he really was. “Let me wrap your hand.”

He pulled August towards the couch, Ciara grabbing the extremely well-stocked first aid kit from under the sink, holding his hand with clinical delicacy.

“It’s fine, I can do it.” August sounded distant, even to himself.

Ryan clicked his tongue disapprovingly. He said, “And which one of us is the med student here?”

“I don’t—” August tried to say, watching was Ryan carefully cleaned and bandaged his scraped, torn skin. “I can’t—”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

August swallowed past the lump in his throat. He’d always imagined that if — when — Ellis died, it would be under his hands; he’d always thought it would be cosmic law. Ciara settled a comforting hand on his shoulder, the only steady thing besides Ryan’s focus in the swirling waters of shock. “I’m the first to know?”

“Pretty much,” Ryan said, before lapsing into focused silence again.

“I should go,” August mumbled when he was done. He had thought about stopping by his brother’s place, checking in on him like all good big brothers were supposed to, but it didn’t feel right anymore. ~~He wasn’t sure if anything did.~~

Ryan let him go, but called out to him at the door. “Hey! We’ve decided to set the funeral for a couple weeks from now. You should come!”

August paused. “Maybe,” he decided after a long moment.

Ryan’s call of, “I’ll text you the details later!” chased him out the door.

August didn’t wait for the elevator, feeling that if he ever stopped for even a second he would punch another wall. He felt bad about that actually. Even on nice, smooth concrete walls, blood was hard to get out. He ought to make it up to Ciara for that at some point. Maybe buy her a new stylus for her tablet. Yes, August thought she’d like that very much.

He got home quickly. Too quickly. It felt unsteady, caustic, in there. He didn’t think he could stand to be there much longer. He left, trailing around Lustin’s streets for a while until he found himself outside the same cafe he knew Ellis and him had both frequented. It too felt deathly still.

Joël was inside at the counter when August walked in. The dark-haired man looked up and grinned, accent still heavy on his tongue even after all the years August had known him. He wondered if Joël had to practice it to keep it there. Towards the back of the room stood Théo, looking decidedly bored

“Auguste! You look down, _mon ami_. Is something wrong?” he asked. August couldn’t bring himself to say it, couldn’t convince his tongue to move enough. Instead, he dropped into a familiar seat and let out a heaving sigh, shaking his head.

The air felt stale, the taste choking him. Théo switched places with Joël and frowned.

“You look like you need a drink, old friend,” he said. His English was better practiced than Joël’s, but he’d always sounded tired to August, bored.

August shook his head from where it lay on his arms. “No,” he said, muffled, “I don’t really like drinking.”

Théo snorted. “Doesn’t matter either way, you look like shit. Drink.” August turned to look at the glass Théo set down. It was something dark, it reminded him of Ciara’s skin. God, he really needed to apologize. Maybe he’d get her some kind of massage. He didn’t know much about what women wanted, but dealing with Ryan all the time had to be exhausting.

He owed Tom, too. His old friend had been the one to help him get the job and he’d always put up with August and Ellis’ fights, even when he and August were on the clock.

August downed the drink in one go, wrinkling his nose at the uncomfortable taste of chocolate liqueur. He paid Théo and stood to leave. He was being useless today.

**_⫘⫘⫘_ **

The funeral, in the end, was set for a Sunday. Not many people showed up, but August wasn’t surprised. It felt right. Annoying, life-ruining bastards didn’t have many friends or big funerals. Even then, he was sure there was at least one person there out of spite. He was too. ~~Liar~~. When August died, he probably wouldn’t have many people at his funeral either.

The sky was clear. That, too, felt right. It wasn’t a movie, Ellis hadn’t been anyone’s hero. He’d just been an asshole with a hobby for ruining August’s day, whose job happened to be knowing everything all the time.

The funeral didn’t take long, just a couple different blessings and flowers left on the slate gravestone. August was one of the last standing, the few flowers he bothered to buy clenched in his fist. Ciara rested a hand on his shoulder and turned him towards her.

She signed, _I’m so sorry, August._

_Don’t be_ . His hands shook and the movements felt jerky. August hated himself for it. _I hated him. I_ still _hate him. He deserves it._

_I know you think that. But how well did you know him, really? I think it’s unfair of you to judge if he was a bad person. Maybe he was just lost._

“ _I hate him_ ,” he said as he signed it. It felt… not quite cathartic, but close enough.

Ciara shook her head and squeezed his shoulder one last time. She turned and left, her arm tucked around Ryan’s slightly shaking shoulders, always the strong one.

Finally alone, August threw down the orange lilies and marigolds at Ellis’ grave.

“Damn you!” he said, carefully ignoring the way his voice cracked. “Damn you. You’re always cheating, aren’t you? This isn’t how it’s supposed to happen.” August hid his face behind an arm, shoulders heaving with breaths that became harder to pull in with every passing moment. “I hate you. I hate you so damn much.”

Turning, August forced himself back under control. He started to walk away, but paused to toss one last watery glare at Ellis’ headstone. “Shit, look what you’re doing to me.” He left.

“Happy yet?”

**_⫘⫘⫘_ **

The trip to Anna’s was long and calm enough for August rid himself of any lingering tightness in his chest. By the time the little girl flung herself out the front door and at his legs, he didn’t look like anything had happened at all. It was good enough.

“Hey there,” he said, smiling. The shy six-year-old looked up and grinned.

“August,” she said happily. “Read with me today!”

August had never been able to tell Anna no, even if he’d wanted to. Instead he laughed and swung her up onto his shoulders, already heading to the swinging bench in the backyard she liked. One of Anna’s handlers nodded to him with a small smile. _Her daddy’s little minions_ , Ellis had called them. August cleared the thought away as he set the girl down and opened up the book she handed him.

“Hans Christian Andersen?” he asked. Anna nodded happily.

“Do the one about the little mermaid!” she said, clapping her hands together. “I like the voices for that one.”

August just laughed and opened to the right page.

“ _Far out in the ocean, where the water is as blue as the prettiest cornflower, and as clear as crystal…_ ” Anna was quiet, like she always was when he read to her. He wondered if anyone else ever read with her. She was a smart kid and had, as far as he knew, always loved stories. He wouldn’t be surprised to watch her take over her father’s gang someday.

“ _…and for every tear a day is added to our time of trial._ ” The story wasn’t long, and they had read it together enough times that they finished quickly. Anna peeked up from where she had shifted into his side.

“Why are you sad, August?” she asked.

August blinked. Was he sad? No, he didn’t really think he was. He smiled down at the girl, patting her head.

“Someone I know died recently,” August settled on.

“Oh.” Anna hugged him tightly for a moment before slipping off the bench and grabbing his hand, pulling him to his feet. “You must have loved them a lot!”

August let out a startled laugh and shook his head. The idea was ridiculous. But he wouldn’t deny he didn’t like the feeling of not being able to chase someone, to throw things, to take pride in watching bruises flower across Ellis’ skin. He just wouldn’t admit it himself either.

**_⫘⫘⫘_ **

Blinking his eyes open felt a lot less like waking up and a lot more like coming out of a daydream. It had to be a dream, because it had been at least six years since August stepped foot onto his high school’s sports field. It didn’t feel like a dream though. He could count all ten — only ten — of his fingers, could easily read the banners pinned to the fence, and his wrist didn’t feel like he’d broken it twice. All of his little tells failed him

“I want you to meet someone!” Ryan said cheerfully. August swung his eyes over to where his closest friend stood grinning. Next to him stood Ellis.

_Next to him stood Ellis._

The ground felt like it was sweeping out from under him, the foundation of the world quivering with something that definitely shouldn’t have been possible. August squinted to hide the fact that _something_ had happened and it would undeniably come back to bite him in the back. He hummed from the back of his throat, which sounded closer to a growl.

“How cute,” Ellis mocked. “You have your own little dog.”

August could taste the words from the first time around on his tongue like a script waiting to be spoken. _What the fuck did you say to me?_ Instead, he said, “I didn’t know monsters could speak.”

Ellis’ eyes flashed, a single moment of surprised anger, and something like hope or awe swelled in August’s chest. A giddy feeling surged through him and he wondered if Ellis would pull a pocket knife on him.

“I could say the same for you.” August clicked his teeth angrily. He was thoroughly disappointed to remember that this Ellis wasn’t quite as quick to react with vio—

This Ellis?

Oh.

He supposed it made sense, for him to be back in the past. Well, no, it really didn’t. But it was the only conclusion August could come to. And God, had he missed it. Missed _this_ , in the month Ellis had been dead. So even if it was only for the day, August decided he might as well take the chance.

Ellis had that smirk on his face, the one that made August want to tear him limb from limb. ~~He loved it~~. Ryan shifted away from Ellis slowly, disappearing to the corner of his peripheral vision. It wasn’t even that hard for August to pull the short, metal pole from the ground. It wasn’t that large, maybe only three feet long. It was one of those little things that stood in the middle of the asphalt walkway between the school and the sports field for no reason. Adrenaline pouring through his arms and snaking down his spine, he sent it hurtling forwards.

And Ellis dodged it _perfectly_.

He snarled, a pretty thing, and pulled the switchblade from God-knows-where. Ryan yelped from somewhere behind them, panicking over— well, nothing really. This was second nature to August and it would be for Ellis, soon enough. August grinned and pushed down the delighted laugh that bubbled in his chest.

It was a beautiful day.

**_⫘⫘⫘_ **

It wasn’t only for the day. The next morning August pulled himself out of the bed in his old room, from back when he still lived with his parents. His mother made breakfast and his brother waited for him to ruffle his hair before he left for school. It was a surprise, but a wonderful one. Ellis was there, and when he saw August he pulled a blade so fast it would have made his head spin if he wasn’t already so used to it.

August thought, _he’s learning_. It sent a rush through his lungs, made him smile. With sharp teeth, he grinned and threw Ellis out a window. The cut across his bicep felt a lot like victory, despite Ryan’s rambling worries.

Days tumbling into weeks falling into a month passed like that. It was a glorious feeling that left him trembling in something that felt like happiness. It was a Wednesday — oh, he’d always hated Wednesdays — when it clattered to an angry stop.

August had been running late in the morning, but he was still early enough that class hadn’t started yet, and wouldn’t for another fifteen minutes. Ryan was running to the door, looking for him, when August got there.

“Ryan?” he asked, stopping from his not-quite run. “Is something wrong?”

“Ellis—” he huffed, out of breath, “behind the school— don’t know— some upperclassman— think he’s— beating him up? Looking for— teacher.”

Ryan’s words sent a different kind of flash through him, an uncomfortable one that sparked like _rage_ and _absolute fury_.

“What?” He sounded like he was growling. August couldn’t say he wasn’t.

Ryan looked up from where he was bent over, hands on his knees. “Oh, shit. Look August, I’m sure Ellis’ fine. He was dodging most of it last I saw.”

August didn’t stick around to hear anything else Ryan had to say. He stalked towards the back of the school, his own footsteps echoing in his ears like a death warrant. And sure enough, when he got there he found a loose crowd of people. It felt more like a movie than it should have. He pushed people out of the way until he stood right on the edge.

It was a senior, like Ryan had said, that was trying to land a blow on Ellis, his face scrunched up in anger. Ellis dodged just fine, nothing even brushing him. Still, it didn’t calm the odd rage in the pit of his stomach. August could see the growing bruise along Ellis’ jaw where the senior had caught him off-guard.

It didn’t take so much as a thought to step in and throw the upperclassman against the wall. He slid down, unconscious. It never failed to surprise August how quickly people left after a fight was over, though. They even left the senior lying on the ground. Ridiculous.

“What the hell was that?” Ellis said scathingly, his voice sharp and cold, a weapon all of its own. “Trying to be a hero now, are we?”

August turned and slammed Ellis back against the wall too, pinning him there. He quite liked how his hand looked, holding the other boy back, pressing him into the bricks with only one hand near his collarbones, his throat. Ellis sneered up at him.

“I hate you,” August said, a low growl that teetered on the edge of inhuman.

“Glad we’re on the same page, you sporozoan,” the dark-haired boy snarked.

“I’d gladly kill you. _Right now_. Only I can.” There was something beautiful in watching the understanding spark into Ellis’ eyes. He smirked and it took a long moment for the frigid bite of a blade in August’s side to register. Ellis slipped away easily and launched himself over the fence separating the sidewalk and streets from the school.

He waved his bloodied switchblade tauntingly and said, “You’ll have to catch me first, monster of mine.”

Not even bothering to pay attention to his bleeding side, August gladly gave chase.

**_⫘⫘⫘_ **

Do you believe in the supernatural? _Ciara asks him. The room is dark and silent. Silent enough that it hums in a crescendo so overwhelming the only thing he hears is a mere echo of what it once was, will be. The room isn’t all that dark actually, he can see around him, in every direction, for at least fifteen feet. And then the writhing, living, darker-than-a-sunless-world shadows encroach and crawl forward. They sway and ebb constantly, never moving more than a few inches. August stares and watches them for a while, until his mind starts pounding and buzzing and he feels his veins start to stretch and — maybe, just maybe — tear. He looks away._

Do you believe in the supernatural? _Ciara repeats. She signs to him, but instead it feels like she’s talking, like she has a honey-soaked voice that rings around the room and his head._

_She’s different here, he thinks. It’s no epiphany or sudden realization, but he notices it and takes as much of her in._ ~~_As much of her as he can without going insane._~~ _Her eyes are burning and melting, reminding August of gold coins. Her hair is longer than ever before and moves of its own accord, writhing just like the shadows-that-aren’t-shadows do, spilling out and over and in between like pitch. Her skin can’t seem to pick a color either. Instead it roils inbetween red, brown, and black — like the sun rising through smoke._

_August looks away, turning his eyes towards where his toes tap against the ground. It’s linoleum, nothing special or weird or terrifying. Somehow, it manages to feel just as haunting._

_“I don’t think it’s possible for me not too,” he says. She doesn't blink her shapeless, timeless, world-ending eyes; it’s unnerving._

_Everything in this room is beyond unsettling._

Would you go back? _He doesn’t look at her hands, still staring at his shoelaces, but he hears her, feels her question in his bones._

_And really, August already knows the answer to that. “Always,” he tells Ciara._

Would you change anything?

_“I don’t know. Dammit, Ci, I really don’t know.”_

_After a long moment — which could have been only seconds or maybe the birth and death of a god — she says,_ You’re hesitant.

_August sighs deeply; he would call it bone-weary if it hadn’t been for the way he was starting to feel like he didn’t have any bones, or a body at all. He hides his face in his hands and admits a single truth:_

_“I think that, if I go back, I’d fall in love with him.”_

_He doesn’t say who, doesn’t have to. Instead, he lifts his head back up to look Ciara in her unsettling eyes._

_She laughs and it sounds beautiful, only sounds just a little bit like the raging and horrified voices of thrice-killed men._ Have fun, _she tells him._

_August vanishes into the abyss._

**_⫘⫘⫘_ **

_Do you regret it?_ Ciara signed, helping him adjust his tie right. It was that moment that made him believe, really believe in not-dreams and dark places and, maybe, the supernatural. She smiled at him, looking lovely in the sunflower yellow dress. Her eyes were dark like they should be and her hair, not straight but recently cut and very much a curly poof around her head, did not move. She looked like a queen of some kind.

_No_ , he signed back to her when she stepped away to take him in. She nodded her head.

_I have a gift for you_ , she signed, looking all the more like she would burst from the idea. _I wanted to_ , she added before August could tell her she didn’t have to. She rubbed her hands together nervously, before—

“Con—radula—ions,” she said, with her voice instead of her hands. Its unsteady, guttural and throaty simply because she never speaks with her throat, the volume shaky and loud. But it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever heard, right below a high, ringing laugh that made him think of untouchable kings-who-became-gods. It’s the best gift he could ever get, and it was all the better coming from his this-time best friend. “G’ood luck, Ah-gust.”

He smiled back at her with as much as he could convey with expression alone. But then the music started up and he straightened his back. He had an entrance to make and a probably-goddess to walk him down the aisle.

No, he couldn’t regret this at all.

_**⫘⫘⫘** _

_All that ever was and ever is, is nearly coming true_

_All you ever see, you ever hear, will all come crashing through_

_When you see that you're needed, you fall in the hands of innocence_


End file.
